


"Then fire, make your body cold, I'm going to give you mine to hold"

by pauliemeatballs



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauliemeatballs/pseuds/pauliemeatballs
Summary: Short corny little fic based on Sigma's new winter skin where he looks like an ice elf or whatever. He and Coldhardt Rein are traveling companions and close friends who wonder if they'll ever be able to feel again, until they realize warmth doesn't need to exist in the form of heat to take hold of someone. Title comes from the song Joan of Arc by Leonard Cohen.
Relationships: Sigma | Siebren de Kuiper/Reinhardt Wilhelm
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	"Then fire, make your body cold, I'm going to give you mine to hold"

“Do you remember what it was like to be warm?” Siebren asked, tying his hair back into a ponytail. Reinhardt remained silent, trying to come up with a substantial answer. Since the two met, they’d been adamant about identifying the differences in their conditions; Reinhardt was an ice revenant, a human cursed to live an ironic half-life and extended life, having been quite literally frozen in time, but also frozen in existence. His skin, a sickly blue that permanently bruised to purple in some areas, had lighter blue cracks around his neck and joints, and even in barely noticeable marks on his face, that informed his tragic existence between life and death. Reinhardt had journeyed far and wide since his exile, searching for scripture or spell of any kind that could reverse his condition, and all he’d gathered was that his life had now been prolonged at the cost of the very things that made him human. He could not remember the taste of food or the feeling of water against his lips. Though his heartbeat had slowed to an almost unnoticeable pace, he did not generate sweat or oil from his skin anymore, and the blood that ran through his veins had turned to ice water. He did not experience physical pain, nor did he feel fatigue after battles or long walks, which greatly benefitted his feats of superhuman strength. Ghostly white vapor rolled from his skin, in stronger waves when exerting more effort, and, according to Siebren, when he dreamed as he slept. Sleep was not a necessity anymore, but Reinhardt would be damned if he’d sacrifice the one human luxury he still had some control over, though it brought him no sense of recuperation. 

Siebren needed even less sleep, being that he was half-elf. At most, he would sleep a day out of a week, and spend the rest of it on watch as Reinhardt rested each day. Much to Reinhardt’s surprise, Siebren didn’t mind the proclivity to sleep over the natural need. As the two grew closer, Siebren even looked forward to the stories of Reinhardt’s dreams, since he did not sleep often enough to retain memories of his own, and he listened attentively. Siebren’s condition left him much the same way as Reinhardt, though he had a more consistent heartbeat, a working sense of smell, and powers that were innate rather than granted. He could also hear and see from great distances, which made him a great asset on their travels, but he still lacked the natural senses of touch and taste, and did not want for food or drink. His nails, lips, and eyelids were blackened with natural frostbite, and four crystalline antlers sprouted from his head. He was as mystical-looking as they come, and Rein found himself fascinated by him each and every day, even though they had spent so much time together since their first encounter. Rein’s position and responsibility as a king forbade him from journeying into the forests and up the mountains, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He had seen many legendary creatures, befriended them, even, but mountain elves had remained stubbornly rare, especially since they made their homes closest to the deathly peaks. Rein had been profoundly surprised to learn that Siebren had been exiled as well. His mother had been human, and his secret had been well kept for sixty years. A blink in the life of an elf, unfortunately. As time passed, they began to notice things about Siebren. His antlers were not as big as the others. His arms, legs, and stomach were dusted with fine, white hair, despite elves not being able to grow body hair. The grooves in his cheeks did not extend down to his jawbone, and though Siebren was remarkably tall for a human, elves did not stop growing at six feet and seven inches. His flaws left him permanently outcast from his clan for the past two years, until he met Reinhardt, and the two became fast friends.

“It’s been...ten years since I last saw home, since I’ve felt fire, or hot water, or the sun on my skin. I want to say I miss it, but the feeling has become foreign to me. Did you ever feel warmth?”

“When I was a boy, yes. I believe during that time, I was closer to the human side of myself.”

“You are still young by elf years, are you not?”

“I am,” Siebren said with a soft laugh. 

“So can you not still feel a bit of warmth?”

“I was raised to not acknowledge it, since no one else experienced it. For many years, I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought I was born weaker because when I scratched my skin, I could feel my nails draw blood.”

“Is your blood warm?”

“Not at all, much like yours is now.”

“It reminds me of ink,” Reinhardt said. “And yet there is no one with which to share my story," he continued in a mild sardonic tone.

“You have me.”

“Of course, but we know each other. Down to our bones, by this point. The outlandish makes for more poignant storytelling. Like my dreams to you.”

Siebren smiled. “I don’t know if I ever dreamed. I believe I must have at some point, to feel a bit of nostalgia for it. Though it's too intangible a memory. More like a wisp.”

Reinhardt smiled back before turning his gaze upward. “Speaking of...”

The two continued their stroll in the direction of Rein’s target until they came across a large black lake enclosed by a rocky cliff, the rim encrusted with snow and the surface of the water billowing with steam.

“A hot spring,” Rein breathed incredulously.

“A real one? I’ve only read about them…”

Rein began to approach the edge, then hesitated. “We might be too cold.”

Siebren heard, but stepped forward anyway, curiosity getting the better of him. He bent to touch the surface with his fingertips, then flinched, the pain making him hiss. The sudden heat of the water, mixed with his lack of experience with warmth, singed his skin, and yet the section of water began to freeze, floating away before melting again.

“I don’t think we’ll have much luck here.”

“Still, we should rest. ...Though we don’t_ need _ to rest,” Rein replied, amused by the contradictions.

“People don’t settle to simply stop working, though. They stop to process the things around them, and within them. No reason why we can’t too.”

Rein gave Siebren a heartfelt smile, before settling on a large, plateaued rock and twisting the rune in the center of his breastplate. White energy seeped through the crevices of the armor, appearing to shrink the parts from sight before swirling back into the rune, revealing a simple, black long-sleeved shirt with a cross hatch of string in the V-shaped collar, sandy leather riding pants, and charcoal boots reaching just below his knees. Siebren did the same with his own armor through a long pentagonal crystal on his own breastplate. Freed were a purple cropped top with tasseled short sleeves and long matching bands hugging his forearms and calves. His belt and waistcloth remained, along with two diamond-like ice faulds on either hip, and underneath were unpatterned indigo shorts. 

“You look very nice,” Rein remarked.

“I wear the same thing every day.”

“And you look nice every day.”

Siebren looked away with a flattered smile. “Then I should say the same of you.”

“You should, if it please you.”

Siebren continued to smile, an endearing slyness about his smirk that made Rein’s own widen.

“Will you not?”

“I shall have to think of something more flattering in return, but in the meantime, know that the sentiment is reciprocated,” Siebren responded arrogantly, and Reinhardt let out a booming laugh.

“Let me see your fingers, you fool.”

Siebren approached him on the rock and knelt, extending them. The tips were now a darkened blue, stark against his ghostly gray skin, and it made Rein smile. Though he did not remember warmth he did remember how the blue was once rosy red against his own skin. 

“Does it burn? Does it pain you, I mean.”

Siebren smiled with soft excitement. “It's but a dull sear. My skin flushes, but I barely feel it. There is a tingle, but it's so far from my senses, like an echo. Still, to see it is thrilling enough, no?”

“Were you not allowed hot springs where you lived?”

“No, considering we lived in the mountains,” Siebren replied with amusement, and Reinhardt realized the contradiction of his remark, grinning sheepishly. “The only heat we were met with was the sun; ironically enough, hidden even further the higher the mountain reached. I should not say ‘we’, since I was the only one who felt it.” Siebren took his hand back and stuck the burned fingers into his mouth, of which Rein noted was a deep, dark red, as if he’d swallowed blood.

“Does that help?”

“It's an odd feeling,” Siebren said. “I have always been cold, so I have never felt it as anything other than standard. But now, the feeling of the burn has made my skin aware. It’s made me aware that I am somewhat of an extreme.”

“As am I.”

“Would your blood rush the same way?”

“Lets see.” Reinhardt rose from the rock to approach the lake’s edge, kneeling to touch the surface as Siebren did. It took him a bit longer to react, but he flinched nonetheless.

“Does it burn?”

“I don’t think so. I feel a dullness like you do, but it seizes uncomfortably, as if my limbs have remained idle for too long.” He returned to the rock, still examining the way his fingers flushed. 

“Do you feel yourself?”

Reinhardt blinked, absorbing the question. He realized he did, and a sick kind of excitement roiled within him, as one would feel at a foreign thrill.

“Just here. ...Can I have your hand?”

Siebren gave it, and Rein touched their burned fingertips together.

“I feel you,” Siebren breathed.

“And I you.”

The two laughed softly through their smiles, until both of Siebren’s hands rose to cup Reinhardt’s face.

“Do you feel me now?”

Reinhardt’s mind had now committed the faint sense of touch to memory, and he realized he could indeed feel Siebren against him in a way. Warmth was not palpable between their skin, but he felt the pressure and texture of Siebren’s hands against his cheek. He nodded, and then gently extended a hand to touch Siebren’s chest.

“Do you feel _ me _?”

Siebren took a hand from Reinhardt’s face and held it against the one at his chest. He, too, could only feel the texture and pressure, but it was better than nothing. Far better than nothing. He realized against another surface of dullness that his heartbeat was reflected back onto him.

“I am alive.”

“...Yes.”

“No, I...I feel my heartbeat as you feel it. You do feel it, don’t you?”

“I do,” Reinhardt sighed, and the two locked eyes. While Rein’s eyes were cloudy, the irises and pupils barely visible, Siebren’s were entirely a crystalline blue. The outlines of his own irises and pupils could be made out, which made the sincerity in them stir a buzz within Reinhardt’s stomach. He slipped from the plateau and sat in front of Siebren on the snowy ground.

“Can you see me?”

“Of course I can see you, you fool,” Siebren whispered.

“No, but...can you _ see _ me?”

The profundity of the question tugged at Siebren’s heart. _ Can you see my feelings _ , he asked. _ Can you see my excitement and happiness _ ; _ can you see how I enjoy being here with you _, he asked.

“Yes, my friend,” Siebren replied. A lack of warmth also entailed a lack of modesty to a point, as Siebren nor Reinhardt could flush or recoil from embarrassment. They had seen each other bare in the times where Siebren rubbed at his skin with snow to refresh himself in place of a bath, or when Reinhardt needed unfelt wounds cleaned on his body to quicken the healing process, but now their appreciation for each other seemed to sneak up on them, much like their burns, and gnawed at their insides in a manner of longing they could not properly identify anymore. It did not halt them from further exploration, however.

Siebren leaned forward to give Rein a gentle hug, resting his bare cheek against his bearded one, and parting his lips to exhale against his skin.

“Do you feel me breathing?”

Rein did not know if he genuinely could, or if he could because he wanted it to be true. He could feel Siebren’s cheek, and his effort, and his embrace, and that was enough.

“I can.” He held him closer. The two remained that way for some time, choosing to live in the moment rather than proceed to the next experimental touch with clinical curiosity over earnest wonder. The steam surrounded them in such a way that they felt pleasantly cut off from the rest of the world, and for the first time in many years, they both knew what it felt like to be at peace. 

Rein felt himself breathe in as Siebren brushed his lips against his skin. Another first. Rein stroked his back with his burned fingers, tracing the bump of each vertebrae. Siebren pulled the band holding Rein’s ponytail in place down in the hook of his finger, letting it cascade over his shoulders. Rein saw fit to do the same, and the two leaned back from their hug to examine each other. There was a special kind of contentment within acts not headed towards a specific purpose, their unfathomably long lives freeing almost any dream or wish from the panicked constraints of time. While longevity made moments of respite as normal as any method of goal completion, their little spot away from responsibility and perseverance felt just as tender as if they were fully human, and fully aware that short lives left few chances to mark moments that truly counted. If they were to live a millenia, this would be one of them.

Reinhardt looked into Siebren’s eyes, his own heavy with thought, before leaning forward with the greatest caution to press his lips against his. Siebren did not close his eyes at first, focusing instead on the sudden twist of emotion in his gut that his brain scrambled to define, but when he saw Rein’s own closed, he inferred that it was proper etiquette and followed suit. Settling into the custom of the act made the spike in his belly spiral inward with greater intensity, very much like the sudden wave of vertigo mountain elflings all experienced as they looked over the cliffs of their home, down into the unseen adventure of the world. He liked it very much. More than he could articulate.

“Did you feel me?” Rein asked as he parted their kiss.

“I did,” Siebren said with dreamy satisfaction, knowing of the act but never having experienced it all the time he’d been alive. All of a sudden, his sluggish heartbeat began to quicken, making Rein concerned enough to ask if anything was wrong when he saw Siebren’s eyes widen. Siebren simply responded by taking Rein’s hand and putting it to his chest again, this time underneath his shirt.

“We are alive. This is proof,” he said, a sudden heaviness weighing down on his ribs, and a tug at his sinuses that felt much like the beginning of a sneeze. As he held Rein’s hand against him, Rein took one of his own hands and rested it against his cheek.

“We are alive.”

Siebren grinned. He felt sick, but he did not desire to be well. If being well meant he’d lose this feeling, this burgeoning passion, this hearth that replaced his heart, then he hoped he would remain ill for the rest of his long life.

“Show me again.”


End file.
